Mark I
by Gen17
Summary: Kristoff gets a call from billionaire genius Anna Arendelle requesting his assistance. No big deal, right? Eh...not so much.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hit a bit of a wall with the latest chapter of the Winter Soldier fic, so I thought maybe focusing on something else for a little while might help. **

**Disclaimer: Disney owns Frozen n' Marvel**

**\- _Mark I -_**

* * *

When Kristoff arrives at the mansion, K.A.I. is kind enough to let him in. Only after a retinal scan and a voice match, though.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Bjorgman." The AI intones. Kristoff never knows how to deal with the omnipresent butler, so he just sort of nods and heads inside, making a beeline for the spiral staircase that leads to the basement lab. Not that Anna calls it a lab. _'Garage_' is the term Anna uses, because, well. Cars. Cars go in garages, right? And she's so _not_ a scientist, come on, Elsa's the brains in the family.

(Says the genius inventor.)

He punches in the code—Anna gave it to him very recently, so he doesn't have to rely on K.A.I. anymore—and he finds himself in the middle of a very messy garage-lab. Lab-garage. (There are, in fact, cars. Just as Anna said.) But in _addition_ to the cars, metal shelving lines the walls, equipment stored haphazardly in boxes, some of them overflowing with instruments Kristoff doesn't readily recognize. All he can tell is that there's metal. Lots and lots of metal. Scraps of it in various shapes and sizes litter the floor, wires snake every which way, a variety of tools rest on every available surface.

At the center of the chaos, Anna sits on what looks like a souped-up dentist's chair. Her small frame is dwarfed by beeping monitors and towering toolboxes.

"Uh…hey." Kristoff waves, brow furrowing with confusion. When Anna called him, asking for help on a project, this…wasn't exactly what he expected.

"Christopher!" She exclaims, expression brightening, though she looks a little clammy, actually. Like she's got the flu, or something. "You came!"

"It's Kristoff," he offhandedly corrects her, eyes drawn to the faint blue glow beneath her shirt. "But, um. Yeah. I came—sounded like you…really needed help."

"Yeah, that's—well. I mean, I was gonna handle this myself, but, um, that's not—it's not an option? And—" she stops talking and eyes his hands. "Mmmm. This might not work."

"What might not wor-_whaaaat_ _are you doing?!_"he demands as she tugs off her shirt. He spins, face suddenly bright red.

"Oh, calm down, will ya? Yeesh, you'd think you'd never seen a _bra_ before." Kristoff remains facing the wall, back ramrod straight and shoulder stiff. "Look, it's like a…a _medical_ thing. Okay?"

"What—what _kind_ of a medical thing?" Kristoff stammers out, still not entirely over his small heart attack.

"This…thing. In my chest, it's basically a magnet that keeps the—could you turn around? It'll be easier to explain if I can point to stuff."

"…"

"_Please_, Christopher."

"_Kristoff."_ He grumbles, begrudgingly turning to face her. He immediately realizes he's overreacted; she's plenty covered. Still. This whole thing is weird and awkward and he's sure his face is bright red.

"Right, sorry," she hastily responds, and it sounds like something of a dismissal, but her expression is one of genuine apology. "Okay. Let's start over." She takes a deep breath, or tries to, anyway. It's pretty shallow, from what Kristoff can tell. "See this? This is the thing that's pretty much keeping me alive. I got hit with some shrapnel while I was over there and it's kinda stuck, like, it can't be removed, or anything, and if it gets too close to my heart, it's kind of lights out for me—no, wait, not 'kind of,' it's completely lights out, you can't _kind_ _of_ be dead—well, I guess you could be?"

"Uhhh…"

"Right, sorry. Basically? It helps me be…not dead. Buuuuuut now it's kinda fried." She holds up her hand, showing off another glowing device that looks pretty much the same, albeit slightly brighter. "_This_ is a brand new…thing…and it's gonna keep me alive for the foreseeable future so this is your standard swap operation."

Kristoff nods, but he's not liking where this is going.

"Just a _tiny_ snag," Anna continues. She settles back against the chair, looking a little frustrated. "I can't do it myself."

Kristoff blinks.

"Why not?"

"You kind of have to be able to _see_ down there for this, and I can't quite tilt my head far enough—" she attempts to demonstrate, "—see? Can't…quite get a good angle—"

"So you want _me_ to do it." Kristoff interrupts.

"Yep." Anna doesn't seem to mind him cutting her off. She just smiles and nods.

"…Is it _safe?"_ he questions.

It takes her a second to answer. "…Yeah."

"You hesitated."

"It'll be fine!" she insists. "I'll talk you through it. It'll be like that game! You know, with the guy, and the buzzer…?"

"Operation?"

"Yes. That one. Exactly like that. Except, you know, uh…don't let that exposed wire down there touch the socket wall."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing, nothing! Here, I'll get you started." And before Kristoff has a chance to agree to this crazy plan, Anna yanks out the device and tosses it over onto a nearby workbench. It clatters noisily against the metal surface. He jumps at the sound.

Now, there's a gaping hole in Anna's chest.

He feels ill.

"I'm…I'm not qualified to do this," he tells her, lip curling in both fear and disgust—is that _mucus_ down there? And what the heck is that smell?!

"Kristoff."

He blinks. Her tone is even, serious. He's never heard her talk like that before. Or get his name right, for that matter.

"I really—I need your help, okay? And I trust you. Like, one hundred percent." She pauses for a moment, and then, "I called _you."_

Kristoff doesn't know what to say. It seems…immense. What Anna's just told him. Bigger and more important than anything anyone has ever said to him.

But that's ridiculous, right? He barely _knows_ her. And this isn't a big deal, really. Just…swapping out a magnet keeping the deadly bits of shrapnel away from her heart. Yeah. No biggie.

So he just shakes his head and steps closer. "Even though I'm not a trained medical professional?" he defaults to unaffected sarcasm, because maybe that will mask his fear. (And all these weird _feelings _he's having.)

Anna laughs weakly. "Yeah. Not even us billionaires can convince doctors to make house calls."

Once he's close enough, and has a good view of the exposed—he's actually not sure what he's looking at, and he probably is better off not knowing—whatever it is, Anna starts giving directions.

"Okay, see that wire there?"

"Yeah."

"_Carefully_ grab it and _carefully_ pull it out. Carefully."

"Carefully. Right. Got it." He moves to do as he's told, but a weary glance from Anna stops him. "What?" he hasn't done anything yet, and she's looking at him like he's already made a mistake.

"Nothing, nothing…just…big hands." She murmurs.

Kristoff stares at her.

"Well, _yeah. _Thought we already established that._"_

"No, I know, just," she stares at them for another second or two. "…I'm sure it'll be fine." It doesn't _sound_ like she's sure. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. Go ahead."

"Are you su—"

"Yeah—_yes_. Go for it."

Kristoff sighs, and once again moves to get the wire. Slowly, _very slowly,_ he reaches into the opening, not liking the audible squelching noises that follow, nor the unpleasant dampness that brushes his knuckles.

"Oh God—is that pus?"

"That's not pus," Anna explains in an affronted voice. "It's just discharge."

"Oh. Of course. Just discharge."

"From the thing! Not from me." She still sounds offended.

"Is the _smell_ from the thing too?"

"You're one to talk."

He finally feels the end of the wire. He grabs it, and waits for Anna's next set of instructions. She tells him to pull it out (adding in two or three more 'carefuls' than is strictly necessary) and he does, only to have a sharp buzzing sound fill the room, along with a sudden yelp from Anna, and a flurry of beeps from the heart monitor.

"What did I do?! What did I do?!" Kristoff asks, frozen in place.

"I said _carefully."_ Anna wheezes. "Just—pull it out. But don't—" Kristoff yanks on the wire, "—pull it out all the _way."_

"_What?!"_ Now the heart monitor is going crazy, and Kristoff's got this goopy thing dangling from his grip, and Anna's not looking too good. "I thought you said this was safe!"

"Calm down, it's fine, I'm just going into cardiac arrest," Anna waves off his concern. Kristoff's eyes bulge slightly. "So we, uh, better speed this up." She hands him the new device, practically dumping it into his hand. "See the end of the wire? That goes in the baseplate."

"It goes in the what?"

"The base—down there!" Anna points to the hole. "Very bottom. Like a USB port. Only, you know, not."

"_Right._" Kristoff says through clenched teeth. He _carefully_ (as per Anna's nine-hundredth insistence) lowers the wire back into the goop, wincing once more at the squishing noise, and plugs the connector into the baseplate. There's a faint sound of metal on metal, followed by another buzz, and for a moment, Kristoff worries he's messed up again.

But Anna inhales sharply, and the heart monitors steady. The device glows brightly as she fits it back in place.

"Ha-HA!" She laughs loudly, admiring their handy work. "See? Knew you could do it!"

"That makes one of us," he mutters as he attempts to wipe the slime from his hand. All he does is smear it around on his _other_ hand, which is very unpleasant. Anna notices and immediately jumps up from her seat, apparently not remembering that she's still hooked up to the machines. She hastily tugs off the various wires and stumbles over to a workbench, groping for a towel.

"Ah, here!" she grabs a spare rag and hands it over. He gratefully accepts, and begins toweling off the goo. As he does so, Anna busies herself by looking for something—Kristoff isn't sure what—until her gaze settles on a slightly grease-stained sweatshirt, draped across a desk lamp. She pulls it on, the light grey fabric covering up the magnet just below her collar bone, but the unnatural blue shines through.

"So," she says, once she's got herself mostly put back together. There's still a few strands of hair that have escaped from her braids; she tucks them behind her ear. "Thank you. For that."

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing." He tries to play it off all cool and collected, like it _wasn't_ the most harrowing thing he's done recently (and he's an _air force pilot_ for Pete's sake) but he's sure his sweaty brow and flushed face are a dead giveaway. "Just, do me a favor? Don't ever ask me to do that again._"_

Anna shrugs, and the words are out of her mouth before she can think to stop them. "I don't have anyone else to ask."

And it takes both of them a minute to realize what's been said; Kristoff stares blankly, confused and alarmed. Anna goes from surprised at her own admission, to guilty, to resigned within the span of seconds.

And though she silently prays that he _won't_ ask the next logical question, he does. Because _of course_ he has to ask it; she would, if she were in his position.

"But…your sister…?"

Anna picks up a stray bit of hardware and absently fiddles with it; she has no clue what it is or what she's doing, but it's easier to look at the piece of metal in her hand than it is to look at him.

"Well…" she starts. "Elsa hasn't…really talked to me much. Since the whole…'ordeal.'" Kristoff can only assume she means Afghanistan.

"She's…been busy? With the company?" he asks.

"Technically, yeah." Anna _knows_ Elsa's been swamped, trying to deal with the fallout of Anna's little announcement, as well as keep Westerguard happy and out of their hair. "But I don't think that's it, really." She sets the hardware back down on the workbench. This is the most she's said to anyone about her hunch regarding Elsa's _real_ reason for avoiding her.

And Kristoff is inclined to agree that the company isn't the reason, for all his apparent ignorance on the topic. He was here, with Elsa, while Anna was…not. He saw what Anna's capture did to the elder Arendelle—had seen a variation of it in soldiers who returned, feeling like it should have been them.

But he figures it isn't his place to talk about that sort of thing. That's something for the two of them to work out.

"Guess that means I'm stuck as your primary medical contact, huh?" he decides to redirect what has become a very bleak conversation back to happier topics. If 'goo' can be described as 'happier.' "I suppose I can live with that. So long as we establish some ground rules."

The smile Anna gives him is one of appreciation. Whether it's for offering up his extremely-limited medical expertise, or attempting to distract her with humor is hard to say. He decides it's probably a little of both.

"Really, Kristoff. Thanks."

And darn it, he's _blushing_.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem." He ducks his head a little and shuffles, bumping into a table in the process. Thankfully, nothing falls over. (Well. A few things, but they don't sound big. Or expensive. He hopes.) "Uhhhh…if you don't have anything else for me to do, I guess I should probably be…ah…going…"

"I can't think of anything," Anna admits. "_Buuuut_ I feel like I owe you for the very-literal save. Can I treat you to pizza, or something?"

"Yes." He nods firmly, not at all ashamed at his quick answer. If there is an offer of free pizza, by God, he is going to _take it._

"Great!" Anna beams, and heads for the door. She pauses briefly, hand hovering over the door handle. "We…made a pretty good team, didn't we?"

There's a strange glint in her eye as she says it, and as such, Kristoff's answer is a little hesitant.

"Um…I guess?" what's she getting at?

"If, say…I dunno…I had another project I needed some help on…would you be up for helping me out?"

"It doesn't involve anymore…discharge, does it?" he can't even _pretend_ he's not grossed out by the prospect of more goop.

"No discharge, I promise." Anna assures him. He relaxes, fractionally, even smiling. Yeah, he'd be up for spending more time with her, get to know her better…preferably in a setting that does not involve freaky chest magnets.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I'd be up for that—" Anna's suddenly back in the midst of the clutter, pulling up something on one of the large monitors. Kristoff lets his curiosity override his better judgment (which he basically forfeited the minute he answered Anna's call) and approaches the monitor, simultaneously confused and impressed when a holographic set of blueprints appears above the workbench.

"Uh…what is this? What am I looking at here?" He squints and leans closer—it's some kind of…suit?

Anna types in a command, and the wireframe changes, now covered in metal plating. Kristoff's eyes widen.

"Our new project."

* * *

**This was sort of self-prompted, basically two characters meeting in an AU. This isn't really the _first_ meeting but it's the first meeting of actual substance, the idea being that Anna is grateful for Kristoff looking after Elsa while she was not around. Anyways...yeah. Hope it was an enjoyable read!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Another oneshot type deal, takes place sometime after the previous chapter. **Bumping the chapter rating up to T**

**Disclaimer: Disney's stuff. Not mine.**

**\- Mark II -**

* * *

"I'm not getting in that thing."

"Well if you've got a better idea, I'm all ears."

"Don't you guys have any planes? I can do planes."

"No planes, I'm afraid. At least...no planes with guided missiles systems, as far as I know."

Kristoff stares up at the suit, all bright, gleaming silver beneath the halogen bulbs. To anyone else, the sleek design might conjure up images of the futuristic utopias of the 1950's—that kind of chrome-coated optimism only old comic book heroes can promise. But Kristoff's not fooled; he's seen the blueprints. The suit's a veritable war machine.

"Why don't you fly it, huh? You're more...tech-y. Like Anna."

"Can't. Claustrophobic."

Kristoff _wants_ to scoff, but as he watches the robotic arms systematically disassemble the armor, prepping it for an occupant, he can easily imagine being trapped inside, the metal wholly encasing one's person, the weight of the armor immediate and inescapable.

Now even _he_ is uneasy. He doesn't want to think about Elsa being inside that thing.

And it must be killing her; he knows for a _fact_ it's killing her, because he's seen it happen before. When Anna was gone. The whole...useless thing. The horrible feeling of guilt. Of wanting to help and being unable to do so.

But this is not quite the same Elsa from several months prior—_this_ Elsa does not retreat into herself, does not shut out the rest of the world. (This Elsa _also_ does not rely so heavily on alcohol, thank goodness.)

Rather, this Elsa pulls her hair back out of her face and stalks over to workbench, where she unceremoniously shoves aside an entire heap of equipment, seemingly not caring as it all clatters to the floor. (Kristoff winces enough for the two of them.) The projected keyboard is now exposed, and she hurriedly types in a command. The robotic arms come to a rest beside the armor.

It's ready.

Kristoff's not, but he has a feeling that doesn't really matter, right now.

_Okay, Bjorgman. Anna needs your help._ He focuses on her as he steps up to the suit. Her, and taking down Westergaard.

"Um. Okay. How do I do this?"

Elsa surveys one of the screens, frowning a little, lips moving as she silently reads over the schematics.

"Well...it looks like...you step into the—yeah, like that." Elsa nods as Kristoff steps back into the...boots, for lack of a better term. "Now I'd...I'd hold as still as possible, if I were you."

"Why?"

"Because I'm about to run this program and I have no idea what I'm doing."

"...Right."

Kritoff takes a deep breath and holds it without meaning to as Elsa's fingers fly across the keys. The robotic arms whir and come to life once more, piecing the armor together _around_ Kristoff. It's...almost like they're stitching him into the suit. The legs are locked into place, followed by the torso, the arms.

Kristoff expects it to be heavy, all that metal sitting on top of him. But the suit itself takes most of the brunt. The final piece clicks into place—the face mask. One minute, he's staring out at the cluttered workshop and garage, regarding Elsa as calmly as possible (which isn't all that calm but the armor hides his shaking knees) and the next the mask comes down.

It's pitch black inside the suit.

"Um." He's not sure if his voice is getting out—it doesn't echo, or anything, but it feels close, like it's not going much farther than his mouth. "Aren't there supposed to be eye-holes or—?" there's a sound like a computer starting, and a screen flickers to life, just centimeters from Kristoff's face. It's disorienting, for a moment, but then the garage snaps into focus. A HUD appears at the edges of his vision. "—never mind."

"Sorry," he hears Elsa say. He turns a little too fast—again, he was expecting some...resistance, at least. _Something_ to suggest and entire metal _exoskeleton_ built up around him, but it's light and easy to maneuver. He'll have to tell Anna, later.

If there is a 'later.'

"I'm a little out of my depth here," again, Elsa has to admit it with no small amount of guilt. "I understand most of what's here, but some of it..." Anna's notations weave in and out of coherence. "I'm going to load up the AI."

"Alright."

While Kristoff waits, he takes an experimental step forward. It goes well, so he attempts another, only to belatedly remember that the other foot is still half locked in place. There's a high pitched whine from the robotic arm; it doesn't know if it should release the foot or not. Programming says 'no,' but Kristoff's unintentional command says 'yes.'

So it lets him topple to the floor.

"Hiya Sven! Um, what are you doing down here?" a cheerful voice fills the inside of the helmet. Kristoff groans.

"I thought K.A.I. ran the suits!"

"Sorry, sorry! Anna's file maintenance is god-awful..." Elsa frantically scans the screen. "I don't see his OS anywhere—"

"Ooooh, is this the Mark II? I've always wanted to see the Mark II!" O.L.A.F. gushes.

"No, it's fine, we don't have time to find him," Kristoff tells Elsa. She nods and moves to shut down the computer. "Olaf?"

"Yeah Sven?"

"It's _Kristoff._ Can you help me fly this thing?"

"Um. I think so?"

"...Good enough."

Kristoff pushes himself up and staggers to the other end of the workshop, checking the HUD and familiarizing himself with the systems. He flexes his fingers, shakes out his legs. It's...not that bad, actually.

"Okay, so...I've seen Anna do this before. Um." he stands up straight, arms at sides, palms held parallel to the ground. "...Go." he commands.

The suit remains firmly on the ground.

"...Fly? ...Flame on?" he tries a few more. "Okay, I give. How do I get this thing to—"

"Hmmm? Oh! Sorry, I was a bit distracted there—thrusters at fifty percent!" O.L.A.F. bleats.

Kristoff has seen them at two point five percent.

"No, no, WAIT—"

He goes straight up, and then straight down. Mostly due to the fact that there's a ceiling—and an entire _two floors_ between him and the sky. Had he attempted the flight outside, he probably would've been fine.

Elsa's there with a fire extinguisher; fortunately, they've no need of it. Yet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he tells her. "Thick skull."

"Right."

"Okay, _for real_ this time," he says, bracing himself and angling towards the tunnel-like entrance to the sublevel garage. "I think I've got it."

Elsa tosses the fire extinguisher aside and moves to follow him.

"Well. Once you get out there, stick to the main roads, and I'll—"

"Wait, wait, you're coming?" the glare Elsa gives him could peel paint. "I mean, of course you're coming. But how..." his voice trails off as Elsa raises an eyebrow and directs her gaze to somewhere just behind his shoulder. He takes the hint and turns and...

And he feels a little stupid.

When he turns back, Elsa's got a keyfob in her hand, and the glare is replaced with a sly smirk.

"Let me guess. You assumed the cars belonged to my father?"

"...Noooo?"

She wastes no time, selecting a vehicle and revving the engine. He get's the message. _LET'S GO._

"Alright, Olaf. Let's try this again. Thrusters at..._thirty_ percent, okay?"

"Got it!" the AI chirps. The suit obeys, and Kristoff finds himself hovering unsteadily several feet above the floor. He wishes he had more time to get his bearings, but Anna needs backup _yesterday_, so he's just going to have to figure it out on the fly. Um. Literally.

"Alright, up it to fifty—not yet!" he adds quickly. "When I _tell _you to." He angles himself again. Elsa's at his back, ready to go as soon as he is. "Let's go kick Hans' _ass," _Kritoff growls. "_GO."_

O.L.A.F. complies. The suit takes off, a single silver streak, O.L.A.F.'s rallying cry rattling in the helmet.

"Let's go kick Hans' ass!...wait. Who _is_ this Hans?"

* * *

**A/N: **Short, unedited, but hope it was a fun read regardless! :D


End file.
